


Taking it Slow

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [24]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 00:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11324808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: It’s kind of fascinating watching Evan’s face go from like, half-lidded arousal to wide-eyed horror, but it’s alsoreallynot an expression Harry ever wants to see on the face of someone in bed with him.





	Taking it Slow

It’s no secret that Harry thinks Evan’s pretty hot, but watching him score is a whole other thing. Like, the non-euphemistic scoring, though Harry’s obviously pretty damn into the euphemistic kind too.

Harry’s feeling a little riled up when they head out after the game, in a good way for once. The kind of riled up where he’d prefer going straight back to their room and showing Evan just _how_ hot that goal was, but he’s obviously not going to begrudge Evan a celebratory drink, especially when Devon has a policy of buying the goal scorers their first of the night. It hurts Harry’s brain to think about how much he’s probably spent over his captaincy, but whatever, he makes six million a year, he can afford it. 

Evan seems a little riled up too, all smiles and chatter. When they started fooling around Evan kept stopping himself after he’d gone on for awhile with these little glances like he was making sure he wasn’t boring Harry or annoying him or something, but he’s stopped doing that. It’s hard not to read into that. It’s impossible not to like it.

It’s also impossible not to get swept up by his undivided attention. Maybe at some point Harry won’t be anymore, but right now it doesn’t matter what Evan’s talking about, whether it’s reviewing the game, which he always does with the same level of focus, win or lose, or trying a sip of Harry’s IPA and comparing it to his lager, or fretting about whether Victor’s, like, died of his cold, even though he sent the entire roster a congratulatory text a grand total of an hour ago with the completely untrue addendum that they would have won it 10-1 if he’d been there.

Harry loses it sometimes though, Evan glancing over Harry’s head to where Harry knows Roman is, and every time he does Harry feels a pang. He actually stops mid-sentence when Roman comes over to the bar, making an excuse about needing Evan to hold onto his shit while he plays Fitzy at darts for a ‘blowjob’. Harry can’t even tell him to use his fucking pockets like everyone else in the world, because he’s wearing pants so fucking tight Harry could probably figure out whether he was cut or not with a glance. He’s also probably liable to split his fucking pants the next time he sits down, considering the size of his ass, and Harry quietly seethes when he sees Evan’s eyes follow said stupid giant ass as it’s walking away.

“Is there actually a drink called a blowjob?” Evan asks, once he’s quit ogling Roman’s ass. He stalls over the word blowjob, and honestly Harry would have trouble believing he’d ever given or received one if he hadn’t personally been the one giving _and_ receiving.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Like, a shooter, and they put whipped cream on top, like it’s — you know,” Evan clearly knows, by the embarrassed look, “and you have to put your hands behind your back and pick it up with your mouth. It’s basically ridiculous.” 

“That sounds embarrassing,” Evan says.

“Pretty sure Fitzy and Roman are immune to embarrassment,” Harry says. “So.”

“Have you had one before?” Evan asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says. He came out of college with pretty extensive experience in stupid shooters. “Tastes good actually.”

Evan looks even more embarrassed.

“For once I did not actually like, mean it that way,” Harry says. “But I stand by it.”

Evan laughs, ducking his head, and Harry resists the urge to run his fingers over the hot flush he can see on the back of his neck.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Harry asks, after the third time Evan glances over at where Roman and Fitzy are playing darts. They’re done their drinks, waiting on the bartender to pay attention to them, so there’s no real better time. “I mean,” Harry says, leaning in close so he can’t be overheard, “We can watch people competing over a pretend blowjob or you can get an actual one.”

When he pulls back, Evan’s gone pink. “That was so bad, Harry,” he says, but nicely. How he does that, Harry still doesn’t know.

“Did it work anyway?” Harry asks.

The next time the bartender’s in view, Evan signals for the check, so Harry’s guessing yes.

Evan spends the walk back to the hotel wondering aloud how Serrano’s doing, and then, quiet and guilty, if they might call Val up if Serrano’s out for more than a few games. Harry hopes so. Like, it’ll probably be unfun to explain all that’s going on to him, but Harry misses the jerk.

Basically the second they get in the door Evan shuts up and starts looking a little nervous. Harry kind of hoped they’d gotten past that, but he knows it’s not like Evan can just turn it off.

“What’s up?” Harry asks.

“I know I kind of made it seem like I’d be okay with, um,” Evan says.

“Getting a blowjob?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Evan says. “But I mean—”

“The hotel room thing?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Evan says. “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind just like, watching TV and cuddling,” Harry says. 

“Are you sure?” Evan asks.

“Would I say it—” Harry starts.

“—if you didn’t mean it?” Evan finishes, smiling.

“He’s learning!” Harry says. He does mean it. Obviously, because he said it. And would he maybe prefer sucking Evan’s dick right now? Yeah, because the thought’s in his head and also seriously that goal was _hot_ , but he likes just chilling with Evan, and he _really_ likes cuddling, sue him, and he definitely doesn’t want to do anything if Evan’s uncomfortable with it.

Harry flips through channels while Evan changes into PJs, winding up on some cooking show, because Evan likes them and Harry finds them less annoying than literally every other kind of reality TV, probably because food. Food’s pretty great.

“Nice,” Evan says, pushing the covers down and holding an arm out when Harry crawls in beside him. Harry fits really well under his arm, the weight of it solid but not like, in a restrictive way. Secure, maybe.

Harry can feel Evan glancing at him occasionally as they watch some epic fail souffle attempts, and by the second commercial break he’s basically stealth staring.

“What?” Harry asks, turning his head, and barely gets the word out before Evan kisses him. Kissing’s good. Harry’s on board with kissing. Even if he winds up jerking off in the bathroom again, that is a price he is willing to pay.

The problem with making out with Evan, though, is it always seems to escalate despite Harry’s best intentions. This time it’s not Harry’s fault, at least. “Why’re you still wearing your dress shirt,” Evan mumbles against his mouth after blindly fumbling open the top few buttons of Harry’s shirt.

“I can take it off,” Harry offers.

Evan pulls back, which Harry is taking as a yes, especially when Evan pulls his own t-shirt off. 

“Like that, huh?” Harry asks.

“I, um,” Evan says.

“You want that blowjob?” Harry asks. “Because I’m totally on board with that if you are.”

“Yeah,” Evan says, “Just let me—” He gets off the bed.

“Where are you going?” Harry calls after him.

“Locking the door,” Evan calls back, and before Harry can point out it kind of locks automatically, that’s the _point_ , he hears the deadbolt turn.

“You’re so cute,” Harry tells him.

“I know you’re making fun of me, but thank you,” Evan says, coming back to bed.

“Only a little,” Harry says. “You going to take your pants off or do I have to do it for you?”

“You can help?” Evan says, and Harry is so happy to. He’s in fact such an overachiever that he helps with his underwear too, only getting a _little_ distracted groping (and kissing, and some very gentle biting) the miles and miles of bare skin before Evan starts complaining about the fact that Harry’s still half dressed, which Harry admits is a problem he should rectify immediately.

“Stop,” Harry laughs, batting at Evan’s supposedly helping hands, which have mostly just gotten in some gropes of their own. Not that Harry minds, but like, getting naked. Priorities and stuff. He pulls back just enough to finally kick his pants off, which is, of fucking course, the moment someone bangs on the door. 

It’s kind of fascinating watching Evan’s face go from like, half-lidded arousal to wide-eyed horror, but it’s also _really_ not an expression Harry ever wants to see on the face of someone in bed with him.

“Ignore it,” Harry whispers. “They’ll go away.”

“What if it’s important?” Evan whispers back.

“It isn’t,” Harry says, and when Evan glances over at the door, “Seriously, babe.”

Evan doesn’t move a muscle, like some Jurassic Park shit, which is flat out adorable, and Harry leans down to press his grin against Evan’s shoulder.

“Connie?” Harry hears from the hall. Fucking Roman. Of _course_ it’s Roman. “I don’t mean to bother you but you’ve still got my wallet.”

“Fuck,” Evan says, quiet but heartfelt, then, loudly, “One sec!”

“What’re you doing?” Harry hisses.

“He needs his wallet,” Evan says.

“Right this second?” Harry asks. “He needs it right this second?”

“He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t,” Evan says, pushing Harry gently until Harry rolls off him with a groan then leaning over the bed to reach for his underwear.

“I got it,” Harry says, sitting up. 

“I—” Evan says.

“You look like porn right now,” Harry says. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to put that thing away.” And, selfishly, he doesn’t really want Roman to see Evan like this right now. He’s sure he _has_ , it’s just. Harry knows Evan’s not just his — not his at all, but like, whatever — but he wants to keep this Evan, the one he made look like that, all to himself, just for like, _one_ night.

Evan looks down at himself, specifically all he’s packing — all Harry _un_ packed? Whatever, he’s not getting his dick back in his pajama pants. Plaid can’t camouflage that shit. _Camouflage_ couldn’t camouflage it.

“Don’t want to keep Roman waiting, right?” Harry asks.

Evan bites his lip. “His wallet’s in my suit jacket,” he says finally. 

“I got it,” Harry says, and when Evan looks like he’s planning on getting dressed, which Harry is 99% sure would stay that way after Evan’s worst fear of getting interrupted came true, “I’m going to have to ask you to stay naked, Connelly.”

Evan snorts, but doesn’t pull his underwear on, so. Harry’s got to take his victories where he can get them.

Harry pulls his pants back on — so short, his time without them — and goes to grab Roman’s wallet from Evan’s coat, then, after a moment, realizing how _he_ probably looks right now, his dress shirt from the end of the bed, starting to button it up before he can physically _feel_ Evan’s anxiety to open the door.

“Okay,” Harry says, “I’m going, I’m going.”

Roman gives him this once over when he opens the door, and Harry knows it’s pretty clear what Roman interrupted, but now he’s hyper-aware of what he must look like, shirt mostly unbuttoned, the interruption not even close to enough to kill his hard on, which is _really_ hoping Evan listens to the directive about staying naked.

Roman very clearly glances down, and Harry can feel himself go hot. It’s not with embarrassment, exactly, because he’s not. Probably would be if it was literally anyone else at the door, but fuck, Roman wants to interrupt, he can get a fucking eyeful. He doesn’t know what it is. Maybe some kind of twisted satisfaction that Roman has to know what they’re getting up to, that maybe it gets under his skin just as much as thinking about Evan with Roman gets under Harry’s.

“Your wallet,” Harry says, shoving it at Roman impatiently. Every second he wastes here is another second Evan could be putting clothes on.

“My um. He had my phone too,” Roman says with a swallow, and Harry bites back a comment about how he should maybe take care of his own shit next time instead of asking Evan favors in some transparent ploy only Evan won’t notice.

It is getting harder and harder not to bite Roman’s fucking head off right now. Harry bites his lip instead, and goes back inside.

“The door—” Evan says, sitting up. He’s pulled the sheets up to his waist, but his pile of clothing beside the bed is mercifully undisturbed.

“You have his phone too,” Harry says.

“Sorry,” Evan says miserably. “I shouldn’t have forgotten.”

“On him to remember where his shit is, not you,” Harry says. “He’ll go away in a sec. Don’t move.”

“Where would I go?” Evan asks.

Harry grabs Roman’s phone from Evan’s other pocket, marching double time — or as fast as he can comfortably walk with an erection, so like, half time, to the door. “Here,” Harry says, holding out Roman’s phone, and when Roman takes it, fingers brushing Harry’s, Harry lets the door swing shut in his face to the start of a thank you. He makes sure to bolt it for good measure, just for Evan’s peace of mind.

“Okay,” Harry says, pulling his shirt over his head. “Where were we?”

“Harry,” Evan says, and Harry can see indecision play over his face, but he can also see, even with the sheets on, that this made about as much of a dent in his dick’s interest as it did Harry’s, which is to say basically none.

“Oh right,” Harry says, dropping his pants. Man, he hadn’t even done them up, no wonder Roman was staring. He crawls onto the bed, squeezing Evan’s hip through the sheet. “I was planning on blowing you, if you’re still, you know. Up for it.” He raises his eyebrows.

“ _Harry_ ,” Evan says, and he’s laughing when Harry catches his mouth. It makes it kind of difficult to kiss him, but Harry doesn’t mind.

*

Things kind of go downhill from there. They lose Samburg, thankfully a winger to Serrano’s center, but still another forward. Evan’s gun shy about even cuddling after the stupid Roman incident, keeps looking over at the door when they’re watching TV before bed. It’s almost like he fucking _wants_ Roman to knock.

Harry has a shitty night’s sleep, alone in his own bed, thanks to a hit in the second that has his ribs throbbing with his heartbeat. There’s nothing wrong with them beyond some bruising, according to the doc who cleared him during second intermission, but they hurt like a _bitch_ , and since Harry usually sleeps on his left side, he spends way too long rolling from his back to his right, trying to get comfortable, while Evan’s soft, even breathing alternately soothes him and taunts him with the sleep he’s not getting.

He’s in a crappy mood the next morning, alleviated only a little by the Aspirin and water he finds that Evan’s left on his bedside table when they switch off on showers, the kiss he presses to the top of Harry’s head before they head down for the trip to the airport.

His mood worsens when he gets back from the bathroom to find Roman and Evan sharing the longest hug in human fucking history, like they’ve just met in arrivals after months away or something, instead of seeing each other every fucking day, and after they separate, Evan goes to talk with Findlay instead of coming back to Harry, in what Harry’s trying not to take as a snub.

He decides Roman must have said something as well as getting his hands all over him in public, because when they’re getting on the plane, Harry’s about to grab Victor’s usual seat when Evan says, “Do you mind — are you okay sitting with Patrick?”

“Uh,” Harry says. He’s definitely feeling snubbed now. He was supposed to go to Evan’s to pick up a book on nutrition Evan keeps raving about, but he’s starting to feel like he’s maybe not going to be welcome. “Sure. Is it still okay if I come over to get the book or—”

“Of course,” Evan says, frowning like that’s obvious, which it really isn’t. 

“Okay,” Harry says. “I’ll see you in a few hours then.”

“Harry,” Evan says, frowning even deeper as Harry moves down to sit with Patty, who gives him a nod before closing his eyes. Harry still has no idea how he manages to sleep through take-off.

Evan asks, after they land, if it’s cool for Harry to drive over on his own. Harry was kind of planning on it, since he’s got to pick up Beau after, but Evan asking makes Harry feel like it’s kind of torrid, and not in a good way, like Evan’s ashamed of being seen with Harry, specifically of Roman seeing them. Or maybe he’s just sick of Harry. Harry doesn’t know.

Evan gets there before Harry, Harry pulling in to find Evan waiting outside all thoughtfully for him, and his annoyance just disappears. Poof. There is my adorable boyfriend waiting outside for me because he’s a nerd. Automatic good mood. Harry has long accepted how far gone he is for Evan, but it still sometimes surprises him.

“Waiting for someone?” Harry asks when he gets out of his car.

“Just you,” Evan says with a small, sweet smile, and seriously, Harry is _so far gone_.

“I forgot my bags,” Evan says after he unlocks the front door, darting back down the front steps like if he doesn’t get them immediately all hell will break loose. _Nerd_. 

“I’ll just make myself comfortable then,” Harry calls after him.

“Go ahead,” Evan calls back.

Harry makes it three steps inside (one in, one backtracking to take his shoes off because Evan always does, one in again) before he becomes aware that he’s not alone. 

“Hello Harry,” he hears in a a thick Russian accent, and any voice when you’re expecting an empty apartment is terrifying, but Harry’s pretty sure a Russian accent wins the terror contest, just because of all of the shitty action movies Harry grew up watching.

“Jesus Christ!” Harry says, clutching his pounding chest, and Val snickers, because he’s a jerk. “The hell are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Val says. “Sometimes. What are you doing here?”

“I…” Harry says. 

“Novy!” Evan says from the front door, dropping his bags and crossing the living room in about three long-legged strides to pull Val into a hug. Oh shit, Harry forgot to do that. “You didn’t tell me you got called up!”

“Went straight from game to plane,” Val says, through a yawn. “Then to bed. Surprise?”

“Awesome surprise,” Evan says. “Not that I’m glad we lost Serrano or Samburg I mean, of course I don’t—”

“Breathe, Ev,” Harry says. “You’re allowed to be happy Val’s here.”

“You not?” Val asks.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Of course I am, idiot,” he says, and Val grins back at him.

“What’s this ‘Ev’?”, Val asks, way too canny. “You friends suddenly?” He gives Harry a suspicious look. Harry’s offended. He can have friends that aren’t Val.

Evan looks over at Harry, wide eyed, like they just got caught in shit. Harry doesn’t know if it’s a ‘do we tell him?’ look but he thinks he might be. He shrugs a little in response. If Val’s sharing Evan’s apartment, it’s not like he won’t eventually find out. Val already knows Evan’s gay and still agreed to live with him, so he can’t take it _that_ badly.

“Um,” Evan says. “So we’re, uh.” He looks over at Harry helplessly again, which Harry guesses means it’s his turn.

“Together,” Harry says, “But also Evan’s dating other people. Person. It’s complicated.” That…was supposed to come out smoother.

“What?” Val asks. “Together? Like—” 

Val decides to drop English for a more universal and more explicit hand gesture, and Evan goes furiously red.

“Pretty much,” Harry says.

“Harry,” Evan hisses.

“What?” Harry says. “He’s not wrong!”

“Huh,” Val says.

“I guess we have some catching up to do!” Evan says, then laughs nervously.

“How long this go on?” Val asks.

“Um,” Harry says. “Like a month?”

“And you not tell me?” Val asks. “I get hundreds of texts from you, no one tells me?”

“I haven’t sent you hundreds of texts,” Harry mutters. Maybe dozens.

“We were taking it slow,” Evan says.

Harry snorts, and totally deserves glare Evan gives him in response. It’s kind of an adorable glare. All the effort, none of the scary.

Val like, rushes them, and Harry braces himself, blinking when he suddenly finds himself part of a group hug. Over Val’s head Evan gives Harry a panicked look. Harry feels him completely.

“So sweet,” Val says. “My two favorites.”

“Aww,” Evan says. Harry can’t believe he likes someone who actually says ‘aww’ out loud. He does feel kind of warm though, like the physical embodiment of ‘aww’. 

“What did you mean, other people?” Val asks then, ruining the ‘aww’ moment completely.

“That’s my cue,” Harry says, disentangling himself, because he’s not interested in explaining the Roman thing, or being there when Evan does. “Good to have you back, man.”

“Good to be North Star again,” Val says, transparently joyful, and Harry leans in to give him another hug, because he missed the guy. “Leaving?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys at practice tomorrow,” Harry says, then brushes his fingers against Evan’s in lieu of a kiss goodbye. “Have fun!” he says on his way out, and this time the glare Evan aims his way is almost a proper one.


End file.
